Cat-Tales #7: Fun and Games
Bruce Wayne took a deep whiff of cognac and closed his eyes as the lonely tones of Schubert’s Impromptu #90 wafted through the air. Relaxing in the sitting room adjacent to his bedroom, with a roaring fire, handmade silk kimono, Waterford snifter, and classical music playing on the costly ultra-sleek stereo, he was the picture of the billionaire bachelor at home alone.
He didn’t hear the first distant click, nor the second. The third he attributed to Alfred, though it was more than an hour since the old man said he’d be retiring for the night. The meow he couldn’t dismiss so easily and he rose to investigate…
His eyes went square as he stood in the doorway to his bedroom, observing a dark silhouette flicker before the open safe. Catwoman?
“Meow,” began the intruder, as an appraising eye scanned him up and down. “You’re a lot younger than the average fossil one finds home alone in these big houses.”
He was beginning to regret that second cognac; he needed a clear head… Bruce Wayne shouldn’t be too confident or confrontational with this woman. He had to find another way. As the figure swayed enticingly into the light, he remembered he was a known womanizer. He allowed a fascinated leer to overtake his features.
“Can I, ah, help you with anything?” he managed as she touched a single claw to the center of his chest and stepped forward, backing him slowly but firmly into the sitting room and the chair he’d occupied before. She stood over him now, twirling his great grandmother’s ruby necklace.
“Not any more. I have what I came for… more or less.”
She leaned over the chair, hovering tantalizingly above him, more deliberately voluptuous than she ever was with Batman… Bruce felt his hand reaching round her waist and moving gently up her back as she continued, “What’s a handsome, rich, athletic guy like you doing all alone at midnight anyway?”
As Catwoman lowered her mouth onto his, he returned the kiss instinctively; never stopping to think of the times he’d kissed her as Batman…
He didn’t see her hand move silently to the pouch in her belt and finger the bulb of knockout gas… then pause and change course, coming to rest instead on the belt of his kimono and slashing it with a swift stroke of her claws.
He didn’t hear the necklace hit the floor as she freed the other hand to explore his abs, chest, shoulder and back.
He did feel when her body tensed suddenly, but she allowed him to twist her round and underneath him, as he groped for the clasp that undid her costume.
As the purple leather fell away, Bruce broke the kiss finally to work down her neck and those luscious, extraordinary…
Their eyes met then, and he saw it.
She knew….
… Or did she?
Impossible to tell and, at the moment, impossible to care. After all these years, after all the teasing, after all the games, he would finally have her.
*** *** ***
“Well, that was fun,” Selina purred. “You got any other fantasies you want to take out for a spin?”
Bruce Wayne, the character of the night before, might have blushed or stammered. The Bruce of this morning stroked her leg as he whispered ominously, “You don’t think Batman’s going to simply ignore your breaking into Wayne Manor, do you?”
She considered this, then said, “But I didn’t leave with anything. And I don’t think Bruce Wayne is going to be pressing charges for breaking and entering.”
“You can’t exactly tell Batman that part, can you?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Bet me.”
Bruce couldn’t quite believe how slow he’d been to take advantage of the situation—of exactly who his girlfriend was now. Protocols! He’d asked her about protocols, but never so much as hinted—okay, the idea had tanked when he’d floated it past previous lovers; truth be told, that’s what really broke up him and Silver St. Cloud—but Selina was not Silver. She was Catwoman. She was really Catwoman. She didn’t think having fantasies about costumed night dwellers was remotely odd; she undoubtedly had a few of her own. She was downright pleased to learn he thought about her that way, and she was excited (she was quite SPECTACULARLY excited) to try out his Catwoman-breaking-into-the-manor scenario.
And he owed it all to Giovanni D’Annunzio being a snob, the Velkstad Ballet being a bore, and the Joker being insane.
*** *** ***
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